


kill the other team, not each other

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beacon Hills Lacrosse Team, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Competition, Finstock Knows, Implied Off-Screen Underage Sex, Multi, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finstock isn’t sure whether this lacrosse team is a blessing or a curse, with all the supernatural strength and temper it has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kill the other team, not each other

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for prompt #142 - Competition at fullmoon_ficlet. Woohoo, I wrote one this week! And while I knew I wanted competition to involve lacrosse, Stiles, and Jackson, this isn’t the story I expected to tell. But it was fun, even if I doubt I did Finstock justice. As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Sometimes Finstock wonders what the fuck curse he tripped to get this particular lacrosse team.

Other times he’s pretty damned sure it’s because he promised his soul to have one winning season. She claimed she couldn’t _really_ grant wishes, but this is Beacon Hills so she was probably a witch or maybe Lucifer in disguise as the hottest woman under the sun.

Well, the hottest woman willing to give him the time of day since Natalie Bennet dumped him and started dating David Martin.

Doesn’t matter. Point is, this particular lacrosse team is a fucking nightmare and a blessing all at once.

Beacon Hills. God save him from the fucked up supernatural bullshit.

“Whittemore!” Finstock bellows, grumbling when the kid charges, straight on track to bowl over Dunbar. Again. For the sixth time today. “ _Whittemore!_ ”

Whittemore stops on a dime and spins around, stick lifted. He manages to come to a halt just in time for Hale to bull through him, taking out Whittemore and Dunbar both, somehow scooping up the ball and tossing it at the net as she vaults over it.

Finstock rubs at his face with the palm of his hand. Fuck his life.

He stalks over to where Dunbar and Whittemore are dusting themselves off, while Hale has a shit-eating grin. She flashes her eyes at Finstock, but he really doesn’t give a shit. Werewolves don’t scare him. Demons scare him. Sometimes.

Angels, now _those_ are scary fuckers, but he’s pretty damned there aren’t any in Beacon Hills.

“Point to me,” Hale says with a smirk. “I’m up by two, Jackson. Still think you’re going to win this bet?”

Whittemore growls, his own eyes flashing a bright blue, lip lifting to show a hint of fang. “Do _not_ run at Danny like that.”

Mahealani lifts his stick, waves from the goal. “I’m fine, Jackson. She keeps going _over_ me, not _through_ me.”

It doesn’t stop the sneer on Whittemore’s face; Hale just spreads her hands, expression innocent. 

“I thought you had game, Whittemore.” Hale leans in close, nose to nose with her teammate. “If I’d known lacrosse would be this much fun, I would’ve joined the team last year. But hey, if I get to spend my senior year showing you up on the field, it’s worth it.”

Whittemore leans down, the growl loud enough that it gains the attention of the non-supernatural kids on the field, Stilinski looking over sharply. Finstock swears Stilinski mutters something under his breath, and Hale kisses Whittemore on the nose before darting away, Whittemore close on her heels. McCall moves into the defense position and Mahealani is ready in goal, Whittemore and Hale ready for another run.

“I do _not_ want to know what those two are betting on,” Finstock mutters.

“Which one gets fucked by Stilinski first,” Dunbar says, as if his question wasn’t fucking rhetorical. Dunbar offers a quick flash of a grin. “They’re worse at pack night.” He lifts his stick in salute and ducks away in a supernatural rush of speed, the only kid on the field willing to acknowledge that Finstock sees the shit that goes on right before his eyes.

“I said I didn’t want to know, Dunbar!” Finstock yells after him, but Dunbar’s not listening, deep in conversation with Yukimura, gesturing at McCall and Mahealani. That had better fucking be battle plans for the scrimmage they’re about to have; Finstock has _plans_ for the future, and Dunbar’s going to be his best player left when this mess graduates. He needs to know the boy has learned something positive from the leadership of McCall and Whittemore.

Something other than the fucking competition that sparks up constantly.

McCall crouches slightly as he sees Whittemore and Hale driving toward him. He feints toward Whittemore, stick out, then abruptly switches direction, tangling with Hale who just barely manages to lob the ball to Whittemore. Two more steps, and Whittemore puts the ball in the goal under Mahealani’s feet, then shouts to the others.

“I’m still up by a point!” Hale yells at him, and Whittemore laughs.

“Not for long!” Whittemore yells back, and he slaps her on the ass when he runs by.

“Circle up!” Finstock motions for the team to come in, and he has to wonder if half of them even know what’s going on. He knows he’s got an entire pack of wolves on the team; Boyd might think he’s being subtle, but Finstock _knows_ , and no one could miss the way Lahey moves now. He hasn’t figured out what Yukimura is, but she can keep up and she might just be faster than the wolves. He thinks the rest of them are human.

Except Greenburg. He has no idea what the fuck Greenburg is, and probably never will.

“We’re going to scrimmage,” he explains, pausing when he has to remind them to keep their scattered little brains on the practice and not each other. “I see you pinching Hale’s ass, Stilinski, don’t think you can hide behind Whittemore. Save it for under the bleachers after we’re done.”

By the time he sends them back out, he’s wondering if they’re ever going to come together as a team, or if they’ll at each other’s throats all along. Then he sees Hale riding piggyback on Whittemore, while McCall hoists Yukimura, and he wonders if they’re planning on playing like that.

Whatever.

As long as they kill the other team on Friday night, he can’t really care what they do to each other during practice. At least he knows the werewolves will heal.

He sinks onto the bench next to Stilinski, who is avidly watching Hale and Whittemore. “When Friday comes, remind them to compete against the other team, not each other,” Finstock says idly, and Stilinski grins.

“Oh, I’m thinking they both get an orgasm for every time they score during the game. Additive, not competitive.” Stilinski sits back, arms crossed. “Werewolf stamina is a wonderful thing, coach. A wonderful, incredible thing.”

Finstock sighs, because he really didn’t need to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
